Operation
by PythonFan
Summary: Collins brings over a classic board game one evening. Roger is not amused.


Roger entered the loft one Friday evening to find a most peculiar sight.

Six adults were sprawled on the dusty, warped wooden floor in a tight ring, giggling like mad. Bottles of liquor in various stages of consumption were scattered around the group. For several moments, they were oblivious to his presence, apparently very engaged in whatever it was they were doing.

Suddenly, an alarming little buzz rang out from the center of the circle, followed by delighted shrieks, cheers, more giggling, and choruses of "_Drink!_" Mark grabbed the nearest bottle and took a healthy swig, to a round of uproarious applause.

"What's goin' on?" Roger inquired blandly. Six pairs of eyes (some more clouded with alcohol than others) turned at the sound of his voice.

"Hey, baby!" Mimi hauled herself up from her stomach. Given her current state, she skipped over to her boyfriend with surprising finesse. After a quick peck on the lips, she grabbed both of his hands, pulling him towards the rest of the group. "We're playing Operation. Collins found it at Goodwill."

Roger blinked. "Operation."

"With some…slight…modifications." Maureen piped up.

"These modifications, I assume, involved the last of my Stoli." he muttered, eying the empty bottle that sat between Joanne and Angel.

Collins grinned wolfishly. "Would we be sitting here playing a damn board game if it didn't?"

Angel tugged at her boyfriend's shirt, urging him to scoot closer. "C'mon, Roger, play…there's plenty of room."

"Christ, no." Roger recoiled immediately. "That buzzer used to annoy the shit out of me as a kid." He tightened his grasp around Mimi's waist and buried his face in her hair, hoping against hope that he'd be able to coax her to his room for the night. It was, however, to no avail. "C'mon, Rog, it'll be fun." She wiggled from his grasp, pulling him with her towards the rest of the group.

Roger sighed in resignation as he dropped to the floor. _Not as fun as sex with my hot, tipsy girlfriend,_ he thought crankily.Mimi curled up next to him as he leaned back against the couch. "I'm not playing." he groused, only to be met by an assortment of boos and hisses. "Oh, shut the fuck up." He nudged the game board with his toe. "You know, I'm pretty sure that's what hell is—the sound of that fucking buzzer. For eternity."

Joanne blew a raspberry in his general direction. "You're no fun."

"Ah yes, and you're a regular Courtney Love." he shot back.

Mimi pinched his side admonishingly. "Be nice."

Roger leaned forward to grab a beer. Cracking it open, he upended can, tepid liquid sliding down his throat.

It was going to be a long night.

Three hours later, Roger's jaw hurt from near-constant clenching. Teeth were overrated. Right?

He surmised the situation in front of him. He'd held firm in his refusal to play, but that didn't stop his friends from partaking in the Drunk Operation—or, Droperation, as it became called as the night (and drinking) wore on—fun.

Three hours of that buzzer. 180 minutes. 10,800 seconds.

And yes, he'd actually done the math in his head.

It had only gotten worse as the night progressed. As general alcohol impairment increased, the buzzer shrilled that much louder and longer. Even now that Collins—the last 'surgeon' standing—had finally submitted to unconsciousness, Roger could still hear the ringing in his ears. He was pretty sure he would hear it until the day he died.

Holy fuck, he hated that game.

_Why do they even call it a game?_ he mused, slightly tipsy himself. _Games are fun. Music is fun. Sex is fun. Operation's just…masochism._

He shifted his gaze downward. Mimi was still curled up next to him, head resting on his chest, sleeping peacefully. Small as she was, she'd been one of the first ones to go. At that point, he'd tried to escape, but had been shouted down by the group and threatened with an especially long, horrific stretch of tweezers against metal. So, effectively pinned down both literally and figuratively, he'd stayed.

Now that everyone had succumbed, however, the landscape had changed considerably. _Freedom, _he thought desperately. Shifted slightly, he stretched the muscles in his back for the first time in hours. With the movement, Mimi wiggled and muttered inanely in her sleep before relaxing against him.

"C'mon, little girl." he muttered into her hair, looping one arm around her shoulders, the other under her knees. She buried her face in his neck as he boosted himself up. Nobody roused as he crossed the loft and shouldered his way into his bedroom. He strode the few steps to his bed. Gently, he laid his sleeping girlfriend on one side, dropping a kiss on her forehead before leaning over to toss the blankets over her.

The rumble of his stomach caught his attention. It wasn't until then that he remembered that he'd originally entered the loft in search of dinner. He hadn't eaten since lunch. Swallowing a yawn, he left the room and crossed the living area to the kitchen, stepping carefully around his (still-comatose) friends.

He rifled through the refrigerator in search of sustenance. There was some cheese, which looked…suspect. Lunchmeat that looked like it dated back to the Reagan administration. Some Tupperware…no, there was no way in hell.

Sighing in exasperation, he let the heavy door slam shut as he swiped what remained of a box of Ritz crackers from the counter. Grimacing, he sat down to partake in his moonlight feast.

A rustle of movement caught his attention. He looked up in time to see a bleary-eyed Maureen twirling the tweezers in her fingers, moving dangerously to the game board.

"No. No. Fuck, no." Roger muttered. Bolting from his seat, Roger practically shot across the room. As he pried the tiny metal instrument from the drama queen's hand, she grinned up at him vacantly, an idiotic smile on her face. "Mmm…hey, Rog." She giggled nonsensically before her head lolled, eyes fluttering shut.

Roger rolled his eyes. Reaching over her, he picked up the Operation board. Even in unconsciousness, they couldn't be trusted. He straightened and walked back to the table throwing the shallow cardboard box onto the table contemptuously. He would throw it out the damn window, but technically, it was Collins' game, and he didn't feel like dealing with a cranky, hung over anarchist in the morning. Not to mention the small fact that Collins probably had a hundred pounds and five inches on him.

Sitting back down to his supper of butter crackers and beer, Roger yawned. Digging the heels of his hands into his eyes, he chewed a little faster in an attempt to finish and get to bed.

He resolved to finish the last of a roll of crackers. There were about seven or eight left when his blank gaze affixed itself to the hated game board.

"Fuck you." Roger muttered under his breath. _God help me, I'm talking to a cartoon character painted on a piece of cardboard, _he mused inanely.

But the ridiculous thing just sat there. Mocking him. The bright red siren of a nose, the pudgy body. Roger scowled at it before taking another sip of beer.

Still it sat there.

He set down the can, aluminum _clink_ing on aluminum.

After a moment, the guitarist sniffed. _Oh, fuck it_. Shooting out a hand, he pulled the bright yellow box toward him. "I can do this." he insisted to no one in particular. He collected the tweezers, letting them slide into place between his thumb and index finger. Eyes squinted and tongue pressed between his lips, he carefully maneuvered the tiny instrument into the Wrenched Ankle hole. He had the tweezers around the tiny plastic wrench, was on his way out, when metal met metal. _Buzz_.

"Cocksucker" he cursed in frustration, tweezers clattering to the table. After confirming that no one had stirred, he grimaced and picked them up once more. He glanced at the ages on the box. Six and up. Well, Christ, if a first-grader could do it, he could. Just one, and then he'd get to bed.

Mimi awoke to sunlight streaming through her window. She took her time opening her eyes, a slight but very real headache—her souvenir from the previous evening—making itself known. Eyes still shut, she grinned. It was worth it. Last night had been fun.

Except for her grouch of a boyfriend.

She finally let her eyes flutter open. As her surroundings sank in, she realized that she wasn't on the floor of the loft, but wrapped in the blankets of Roger's bed. She smiled. Grouch though he was, he did have his moments of uncharacteristic sweetness.

She raised herself up on her elbows, shifting first to look at the digital clock at the bedside. A little after ten. She then turned to Roger's side, only to find it empty; in fact, it was completely undisturbed. Where the hell _was _he?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a familiar _buzz _from outside the room. Yawning, she wrapped a blanket around her to ward off a chill and shuffled out to the kitchen. She had to blink to confirm what she saw.

Their friends still lay sprawled, motionless, on the floor. But that wasn't what caught her attention.

Roger, all bloodshot eyes and mussed hair, was hunched over the Operation board, face contorted in concentration. One elbow was on the table supporting his head, fingers threaded through his hair. The other hand, clasping the tweezers, was balanced precariously over the game board.

Mimi bit her lip. "What are you doing?" she muttered softly, trying not to startle him. Try as she might, though, his head shot up as the metal instrument crashed to the table. Eyes wide, he looked like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Oh, uh…I was…" he fumbled, blushing furiously as his fingers scrabbled to pick up the trash that littered the table.

Mimi wrinkled her nose. "Were you there…all night?"

"No! I mean…only since," he protested, "only since, like…" he swallowed, then looked up guiltily, "since like…three?"

She blinked. _Did he just say…? _"You've been playing Operation for seven hours?"

He stared at her blankly before pressing his lips together. "It's…possible."

Without thinking, a sympathetic smile crossed her face. She could use the opportunity to tease him mercilessly, but damn it, he was cute. Even more so when getting caught playing a child's game while relatively sober. "You should come to bed." she chided softly.

"Oh…yeah. In a minute." Still flustered, he gave her a weak smile before casting his eyes everywhere else in the room except at her face.

Mimi smiled and turned, retreating back into her room. She crawled back under the blankets. As she drifted back to sleep, she was vaguely aware of another _buzz _and a frustrated groan. "Fucking piece of shit." she heard him mutter loudly.

With that, Mimi scooted away from the edge of the bed, taking advantage of the extra space. Stretching luxuriously, she decided that she didn't know what Mark was always so upset about; losing her boyfriend to another man (albeit a cartoon) seemed to have its benefits.


End file.
